The Mystery of Blades
by Jack Goldstien
Summary: Sparrow had turned his back on adventure, but is brought back after hearing about a brutal murder and hoping to know who's behind it. Little does he know he will once again fight for the fate of Albion and possibly the world.
1. Chapter 1

Forward

Hey everyone! It's been a long time since I've posted a story here, but its good to be back. This time however, I've decided to do a Fable 2 Fic. So, as everyone knows, I don't own the rights to Fable or Fable 2 for that matter. Only Peter Molyneux (and his awesome sauce bald head), Lionhead Studios and Microsoft Game Studios have those rights. This work of fiction isn't at all for profit but entirely for pleasure purposes.

*Whew* Now that I have that out of the way, let's get on to the fun bits. After I heard about Fable 3 in the works, I decided to play Fable and Fable 2 again. And with Sherlock Holmes in my fiancé's possession, I got inspiration to make a mystery fic in the Fable universe. I also hope to be posting a chapter ever other week; so two weeks from now, be expecting the next chapter. So, next thing to understand, why the M rating? Well 1) there's a lot of cursing, potential for gratuitous violence, references to alcohol and maybe sex later on; and 2) because those things would be bad for little kids and the FCC will not be so happy about that. So, without further ado, enjoy the Mystery of the Blades!

**Chapter 1**

**They pull me back in!**

The thug was running through the dark and dangerous streets of Old Town Bowerstone. He looked back to find nothing, but still he ran. The thug ran into a drunken thug, causing both of them to fall to the ground.

"'Ey! Wash were your go-," yelled the drunken thug at the other. Before he could finish, the thug already in a rush had jumped back up to his feet and kept running.

"'Ey! 'EY! I'm talkin' ter you, you fuggin bas-," the drunken thug said while getting back up, only to be knocked on his backside again. He looked up in a rage and grabbed for his rifle, but sat still, mouth gaping. The second person to knock him over was a tall slender figure wrapped in a red cloak. He couldn't get a good look at the figure's face, but something about it felt evil, like someone you should never hope to cross paths with. In the figure's right hand was a blade curved like a dark kukri blade etched with intricate patterns, with another blade added onto the pommel, which had red leather wrapped around it. The figure continued to follow the now disappeared thug towards the graveyard. To the drunken thugs eyes, the red figure seemed to be flowing more than running, a lot like a banshee.

As he sat there, the drunken thug simply didn't understand what had happened, wide eyed and stunned as ever. Never in his days had he seen something so terrifying, yet curious, before in his life.

It had been three months since the fall of Lord Lucien, one month since Sparrow had encountered Theresa in the Spire, with her new found ability of looking into the future. His future as ruler of Albion wasn't what he hoped for. After his adventure throughout Albion, all he truly wanted was peace, quiet, and a place where his past would not come to haunt him; however, Sparrow had grown bored since then. This boredom had carried him on to looking through the mountains of tomes and scrolls around Brightwood Tower, the place he called his home. He owned many businesses and houses in Bowerstone, but never frequented the bustling city as often as he did on his adventuring days. The food he received was often from Brightwood farms, the estate given to him by Farmer Giles for finding his son a proper date soon after they both moved back to Bowerstone, the rest of which was shipped to Westcliff for a nice profit, since Oakfield had gone into decline since the Temple of Shadows had killed the monks living there. His faithful Siberian husky, Rooter, laid down close to the fire downstairs. Since his occupation of Brightwood Tower, he started to update the space by adding a spiral staircase up to the master bedroom and putting the cursed bed of Chesty into storage, replacing it with a more luxurious and soft bed.

Sparrow was a tall, muscular man with brown dreadlocks, a well-trimmed beard and tan skin. He wore the clothes of a noble: shirt, vest, trousers and shoes. He wore a white shirt with a blue vest with black pants with red trim, while his shoes were black. His coat, a black Will User coat with red inner cloth, rested on a hat rack close to the stairwell, along with a Gables Green Nobles Hat with the yellow trim. He also wore an eye patch on his left eye, one of his most common features. Though both eyes worked just fine, he always thought it necessary for certain situations. Another noticing feature on Sparrow were the blue runes that stretched across his whole body, giving him a faint glow due to his mastery of the Will.

Recently, he had been researching more into guns, thinking about the future rather than old relics from the Old Kingdom. All over his floor were diagrams and blueprints for pistols and rifles with added doodles to the barrel, stock or even to the gun itself. He tinkered with a master flintlock pistol, a multitude of attachable barrels and different looking ammunition off to the side of his worktable. He attached a long silver barrel to the pistol then held it out to the open terrace, pointing it at the bottles set up to test his experiments. He pulled the trigger. The pistol gave off a loud bang, while shattering the bottle upon the bullet's impact. Sparrow groaned and threw the barrel down on the table, taking another blueprint from his desk and scratching out the current sketch he had drawn on. Eventually, he just threw the paper off his desk, adding to the small pile of paper close by his table. He put his head into his hands, and then rubbed his eyes. He looked outside his large terrace window. The sun was coming up, another long night of experimentation without any sleep.

He stretched in his seat, and then rested his feet on the table, looking up and down the pistol he held in his hand.

"There just has to be a way," he said to himself. He put the pistol down, and then started to shut his right eye for a little nap, until he heard a voice outside the tower. He looked up, then got out of the chair and ran down to see whom it was. He got to the stairs to see it was Sheriff Thomas of Brightwood. He had frequently come to see Sparrow, often catching him in the middle of an outlandish experiment he found in one of Garth's journals or one he had thought of himself. He wore the basic uniform of a sheriff in Albion, a steel katana fastened to this back. He waved to Sparrow as he walked up the old stone stairs. Sparrow simply leaned against the edge of the large door, giving a slight smile as his comrade walked up.

"'Ello Sparrow," said Thomas as he walked up to the Hero, shaking his hand.

"Hello Thomas," said Sparrow. "Are you hungry for some breakfast, I would like to know what has been going on while I've been out of the adventuring business."

"I'd be more than happy to tell," said Thomas.

They made their way up to the tower, stopping below the study for a quick bite to eat. Thomas discussed the current comings and goings of Brightwood, how he stopped a small band of bandits that were about to terrorize some gypsy traders. Thomas always loved telling stories about his greatest achievements from day to day. Even if it was rescuing a kitten from a tree, he took pride in his job.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that you have made Brightwood all the more safer, Thomas," said Sparrow as he sipped the last of his tea, placing the cup on the table. "As for myself, so far I have gone though half of the books left behind and have started on a few personal ventures."

"Like what Judge," said Thomas. Sparrow was referred to many titles and names, the most recent was the Judge of Brightwood, which confused Sparrow because he never really saw himself as one to judge others. Perhaps it was his preference to fire and lightning magic that almost seemed otherworldly. But that wasn't his place to question what others thought of him. The only opinion that mattered to him was his own.

"Samarkand is the birthplace of gunpowder; however, Albion is the creator of the flintlock mechanism, in other words the pistol, the rifle. I was simply hoping to build upon those blueprints," said Sparrow as he walked up to the fourth floor, followed closely by Thomas. "Watch your step, some of these additions I'm still working on."

Thomas picked up two of the prints. One looked like a rifle with a spyglass attached to the top and another was a pistol with long, cylindrical barrel attached. Thomas extended the design to Sparrow and asked, "What are these?"

"I was just thinking that it would be interesting to have a rifle that can hit a target at long distances, targets that can't be seen by the naked eye. The pistol, I'm trying to figure out how to soften the sound that comes after you pull the trigger."

"So, your trying to come up with a rifle that can shoot things at really long distances and a quiet pistol?"

"A _silent_ pistol, Thomas. Believe me, if I were to figure out this quandary, it would shape the way we do warfare for generations to come. So far, however, I still have much work to do. So if there's nothing you need of me, I must be—"

"OH YES! I remember why I was sent here."

Hearing this made Sparrow stop in his tracks. He turned to look at Thomas.

"There has been a murder in Bowerstone Cemetery. Some bloke from Old Town was found on the steps of the caretaker's mansion with seven stab wounds, like seven blades had stabbed this poor bugger in the chest and rammed them through all the way," said Thomas.

Sparrow stood silently.

"This could have been an assassination job," said Thomas, picking up more of the blueprints and designs off the floor.

Sparrow simply paced around, completely oblivious to the pages he was stepping on. "No, no, no. The Society usually sends only one of their members on their jobs. And it can't be a gang job, they'll simply stab and run off. Plus, I've never seen an all "Goth" gang that would voluntarily have a hang out in the cemetery. No, this man was being hunted."

Sparrow paced silently, his thoughts like a raging sea. He put his left hand into a fist, his right hand on top, drumming his knuckles. He stopped and looked up, then turned toward his bed and jogged up the spiral staircase. Thomas heard rustling and a little clatter. A moment later, Sparrow had a bag in his hand, and rushed down the stairs. He then picked up a few of his blueprints and some of the barrels along with two spyglasses and stuffed them into the bag.

"We had better hurry then Thomas," said Sparrow as he grabbed his Will User's coat and his hat and put them on. "If we set out now, we'll be able to get there in about three days."

"You mean your going to look into this?"

"Yes Thomas," said Sparrow. "This seems to be a very serious case. The person responsible for this really wanted this man dead. I simply want to know why this is. Now, we had better hit the road and fast my friend."

"Don't worry sir. We have a carriage ready for you just outside the main gate of your estate."

Sparrow nodded, and fastened the last buttons to his coat and started out, Thomas close behind. As they crossed the third floor, Rooter looked up and gave a small whine. Sparrow looked over and said, "Of course you can come with us. How would I solve this without you? Come on Rooter."

Rooter got up quickly then stretched his legs then ran over to Sparrow, nuzzling his head on Sparrow's leg.

"Are you sure that that would be a smart-"

"Yes Thomas. Rooter has been with me since I was but a boy, listening to the stories of the heroes of old from storytellers back in the caravan by Bowerlake. He's coming."

Thomas nodded and then walked past Sparrow. Sparrow then looked back on his abode and smiled. "I try walking out on the life of an adventurer only to be pulled right back in. Come on Rooter."

Sparrow gripped his bag tight and pet Rooter between his ears, then set out to figure out this new mystery that fate had set in front of him and his faithful dog right there next to him.


	2. Chapter 2

Forward

Hey there everyone, Jack again. Just wanted to say that its great to see that some people are reading this story (all 9 of you). I know this chapter is late, but its here now. Better late than never eh? Also, I hope that you guys can spread the news about this story. The more readers that I see reading, the more I'm going to be enthused to make another chapter. I would also like to hear your comments and reviews about the story. Do you like it? What do you think would be a good idea for the upcoming chapters? I love to hear feedback guys, so please please PLEASE, leave me a review! But beside that, here's chapter two. I hope the 9 of you that read this again are excited about this.

Chapter 2

**Coming to an Understanding**

A bump woke Sparrow up from his long sleep in the carriage. This was the only time he had some form of rest from his schedule of personal experimentation. Now that he was going to Bowerstone to investigate someone's death, he figured it would be a rare occasion for sleep to occur. Rooter simply looked miserable being cooped up in the bouncing carriage as he sat next to Sparrow, his head laying on Sparrow's leg. Sparrow petted Rooter's fur as they passed under the bridge to the gypsy caravan, now gone to explore other places and cultures. It saddened him to know that the people he once called friends and his family were gone, leaving him alone to his own devises.

"Sorry the ride woke you sir, but we're almost there," said Thomas as they passed by the straight road to Bowerstone. From there on out, it would be a smooth ride. Sparrow looked out the window, watching the countryside rush by. Thomas simply sat, looking at Sparrow, almost in a sort of friendly jealousy of how the man sitting in front of him was a hero, while he was still making ends meet and getting people to respect him. Ever since he was a child, Thomas had always wanted to be a hero; like Thunder, Maze, and most of all the Jack-slayer. That was the main reason why he became a police officer, to help people and save lives. However, since he became sheriff, he didn't get to see as much action, but still made rounds like his deputies. More likely, Brightwood had been made safe for long enough because of Sparrow living there. But regardless, he had yet to have his face in the spotlight since then. Did he hate it? No. It gave him an easy job with very little responsibilities, but to make basic rounds to make sure bandits weren't terrorizing anyone. But he saw Sparrow as his rival.

"You look deep in thought," said Sparrow, seeing Thomas staring.

"Hm? Oh no, not really. Just thinking about what I'm going to do when we get to Bowerstone. Your going to be looking at a body and I'll probably just get in the way."

"On the contrary, my dear Thomas. I need someone to help me in this venture. Someone I can trust."

Thomas looked over at Sparrow with shock in his eyes.

"I need an answer Tho-"

"Yes! Yes, I'll be more than happy to help you," he said while jumping to his feet. But once his feet hit the floorboards, his head smacked into the roof of the carriage. Thomas then rubbed the top of his head and crouched down, slowly finding his seat again. Sparrow didn't even try hiding back a smile after seeing his friend in minor pain due to stupidity.

Sparrow looked out the window for the rest of the trip, watching the countryside slowly evolve into the cityscape he knew as Bowerstone.

* * *

By the time Sparrow and Thomas had gotten into the town, there was little time to stand around and let the crowd recognize the celebrity that had come into their midst. Rather, Thomas took Sparrow directly to the scene of the murder. As they wondered past the socially decaying district that was called Old Town towards the graveyard, Sparrow looked around at what used to be his home and how he grew because of it. But there was also a sense of guilt for being a factor that caused its current demise. However, he could have blamed it on Derek's poor management or ability to keep arrest warrants in his hands. Regardless, Old Town was very much apart of Bowerstone, no matter how dark and dangerous the district was.

As they reached the cemetery, Sparrow looked around, noticing how there weren't many people mourning. In fact, there were more law officers than there should have been.

"Quite a lot of officers, don't you think Thomas," asked Sparrow.

"Well, this was an unusual murder, sir."

"Yes, I can agree with that. Very rarely do you see a murdered man in the presence of peaceful deceased."

They continued towards the steps of the caretaker's steps. Oddly enough the caretaker had yet to make a fuss about the law enforcement presence.

"Guess the caretaker is digging this bloke's grave," said Thomas as he walked with Sparrow. Sparrow nodded at this. They continued their way to the scene, Rooter close to Sparrow's side.

Once they reached the steps, Sparrow looked around at the scene. "Hey you, Officer," yelled Sparrow to one of the deputies.

The officer looked over at him, "Yes?"

"What's your name?"

"Alex."

"Alex, Where was the victim found when you arrived here?"

"He was sprawled on the stairs, over here."

"Face up or down?"

"Face up sir."

Sparrow looked at the steps, pulled a magnifying glass from the bag he carried, and then started looking through the magnifying glass at the steps. He occasionally said, "Hmm," or let out an "Ah," every now and again. After 5 minutes of inspecting the stoop, he looked to Alex and said, "Did anyone clean this area since the murder?"

"No sir."

"Did it ever rain?"

"No rain for at least two weeks now."

Sparrow then looked back at the steps and simply kneeled over stoop, puzzling over what he was seeing.

"Are you sure it hasn't rained yet, Alex?"

Alex simply looked at Sparrow and said, "I'm positive sir. So, pardon my rude tone, but I would know if had or hadn't rained since yesterday."

Sparrow looked at Alex, then back at the stoop. Thomas looked at Sparrow. "Why does it matter if it had rained since yesterday sir," asked Thomas.

Sparrow continued to inspect the stoop, then stood up slowly and looked to Alex. "I at least hope you hadn't disposed the corpse yet," said Sparrow to the officers, more toward Alex.

Alex glared at Sparrow and growled, "Yes sire, we do have the body in our custody."

"Well then, what are we waiting for? Take me to the deceased bloke."

Alex then leered for a second, then turned to one of the other officers. "Hey you! You heard him, get moving to the Barracks."

Two of the officers stumbled as they were called; from the looks of it they were new to the service. Sparrow smiled and Thomas simply chuckled, remembering his time as the new guy when after he graduated from the police academy and his placement in Bowerstone, before he was moved to Brightwood to help protect Farmer Giles's new farming business after he retired from law enforcement. The new officers simply turned quickly and started to jog off, leaving Sparrow, Thomas and Rooter well behind who took their time walking behind.

"So, what are you thinking Sparrow?"

"I'm not sure right now. It can be possible, but I can't say anything till I'm sure of it."

* * *

The body was stored in an underground laboratory, which was more like a dungeon. Many candles and an overhead opening to the outside, which was blocked off by iron bars, illuminated it. It was composed of many cut stones that formed the walls, and stairs, with a thick wooden door about ten feet high with stone cut steps leading down to the side of the room. This was definitely a prison used by the older generation of police officers to deal with some of the worst criminals in the history of Bowerstone.

Sparrow lifted the cloth that hid the dead man on the wooden table in the middle of laboratory in the Police Barracks inside the wall of Bowerstone, right in front of the Market District. Thomas wretched back at the smell, but Sparrow had been accustomed to the smell in his travels, it hardly affected him. Sparrow scanned the body with his eyes quickly then looked at the victim's chest and stomach, quickly spotting the punctures from the seven blades that had ended his life. Sparrow took his magnifying glass and surveyed the wounds through it. He kept running his magnifying glass over the area till something caught his attention and he looked back at the spot; first his eyes squinted, then widened.

"Thomas, in my bag there is a pair of small tongs. Get them for me, if you'd please," said Sparrow.

Thomas quickly went for the bag and searched thoroughly for the tongs. After spending a small amount of time searching the bag, he found tongs and handed them to Sparrow, who took them in his left hand and started to inspect one of the stab wounds with the magnifying glass, which was in his right. He poked and prodded the wound, then lifted the wound and looked inside the wound. He put the magnifying glass down and then looked to Thomas.

"Well, what was so interesting about this," asked Thomas.

"This death was very unusual to begin with, I must say," responded Sparrow starting to pace next to the table. "It was unusual just by hearing how the bloke died. Seven stab wounds to the chest and stomach is a very fascinating way to die. Very much of an overkill wouldn't you agree? But, the odd part about this death was that there was no residue of blood from his wounds that spilled out on the stoop. Normally, after having many punctures the body would make quiet a mess on the steps with droplets to show up in the surrounding area. However, at the scene, this was not the case. Blood loss was minimal, which led me to believe that Bowerstone had had a shower to wash the blood away. But, since Alex had informed me that Bowerstone hadn't gotten any rain in the past few days, weather couldn't have been an issue.

"So, I had to come to a small amount of conclusions, which only puzzled me more. But, upon observation of the body of… what is his name?"

One of the deputies picked up a small leaflet and read, "Jonathon Alderton, mid to late 30's, lived in Bowerstone Old Town since he was born and never really left sir."

"Thank you sir," said Sparrow slightly bowing at the deputy's assistance. "After examining Mr. Alderton's body, I found that most of the veins and arteries had been burned shut with some of the muscle and skin singed, thus causing the minimal bleeding."

"Astute observation sir," said Thomas. "But what could have caused an artery like that to singe?"

"From what I could think about, this could have been caused by seven blades that were heated to a red hot state and rammed in-"

"But that makes no sense sir," stated Thomas. "So, you're saying four to seven killers teamed up against a single thug, with burning swords-"

"Of course not Thomas," interrupted Sparrow. "Burning blades are very fragile, and will leave a residue of iron inside the wound. Also, if you hadn't noticed, the blade paths crisscross at certain points. This would be impossible if the swords used to kill Jonathon, with the exception to one type of sword."

Thomas looked at Sparrow with a questioning look, and then his eyes opened wide. He understood. "An ethereal sword."

"Exactly Thomas. This death can be attributed to the power of Will; magic."

"So our murderer is a Will user?"

"Yes Thomas, we are on the hunt for a magician," said Sparrow. "You two, I want you to spread the word to all officers at the scene to search with caution. The murderer is highly dangerous and should be approached with the utmost caution."


End file.
